Kresnik
by nekomimic
Summary: Definition: noun; vampires that feed on other vampires. R27. G27. All27.


Kresnik. Definition: _noun_; vampires that feed on other vampires. R27. G27. All27.

Hello everyone! Here's just some notes so you dears don't get lost. In this fic, vampires have blood as well. The word and definition of 'kresnik,' comes from the manga Vassalord (it's a good manga, everyone read!) and Reborn is an adult, and he's been an adult ever since he was turned. There are no child forms of the Arcobaleno.

The biting scene can be interpreted as dubcon, just a warning, my lovelies. Also the whole biting/blood thing could be construed as bloodplay. Or not. Just depends.

Enjoy!

* * *

Tsuna's memories of his childhood are vague at best and nonexistent at worst. He remembers only flashes of white teeth, maybe laughter here or there, and his mother's hug. His father patting his shoulder. And -

(Bright hair, gentle hands, white, white teeth. Smiles that don't reach the eyes. Angry words exchanged with Tsuna's father.

Tsuna's dad saying, "Giotto ... are you sure?"

Tsuna's father getting angrier and angrier.

Someone saying, "Yes," melodic. Soft as steel.

Tsuna running down the hall, jumping into his bed, just as someone comes into his room to kiss his forehead goodnight.

Tsuna's father and a man arguing once more. And Tsuna's father saying, resigned, "Wait until he's sixteen.")

Not much else, unfortunately.

But really, that's alright. His childhood's in the past. And he _really_ needs to focus on school or else his mom's liable to take away all of his electronics. Maybe even his manga collection. Maybe even his books. (Ha. Like he's ever opened _those_ up and read a chapter. Worst birthday gifts ever.)

Maybe even his bed.

He ponders on that for a moment (and isn't it ironic that he's telling himself to pay attention in school and he's musing on a totally different topic _while_ in school?), before deciding, no, his mother's too nice to do that.

He then thinks on the last time he received a 10% on a test and how Tsuna really thought his mother was going to kill him. Really thinking that she was going to do it, and remembering the fire in her eyes and how_ angry_ she got and then a moment later, how _disappointed _she got has him jolting out of his daydream quickly, knee hitting his desk, abruptly interrupting the class with the loud clatter of writing utensils falling to the ground.

He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck until his classmates and finally, his teacher, look away. Once all attention is diverted from him, the smile drops and twists into a small frown. He sighs inaudibly and leaves his things on the ground, neck propped onto the palm of his hand. He pays attention for the rest of class, eyes focused on the teacher instead of the window for once. It won't help. The sharp words of his teacher go in through one ear and out the other. After three months of not paying attention, doing so for half a class period_ probably_ isn't going to help.

He stays like that, chin propped onto his hand, bored, glazed expression on his face, even after the lesson, even after his classmates start to chat amongst themselves and the once quiet classroom becomes loud and rowdy. Not once does his expression or his position change.

And not once does he notice the eyes glued to the back of his neck.

* * *

_one week earlier._

Thousands of miles away, in a ridiculously ornate ancestral mansion, in an office situated in the west wing, a man straightens in his throne-like seat and crosses his legs at the ankles. A worn, aged photograph is held between his index and pointer finger. There's someone sitting across from him in a less ornate chair, but he doesn't look up from the photograph.

This is equally a power play and him admiring the boy in the photo. By not looking up, he asserts the notion that the other isn't powerful enough to overpower him. By not looking up, he asserts the notion that he doesn't find the other man a threat.

"You realize," the man says airily, eyes still fixed on the photograph, and the man across from him looks snaps to attention in less than a second, brim of a black fedora shifting to cover the other man's eyes in an already low-lit room.

"You realize," the man repeats, this time perhaps even more airily. "That I don't want to do this, yes?" The question is rhetorical. He doesn't expect an answer and the man sitting across the desk from him cloaked in the shadow - doesn't give him one. "That any mistake, any hurt that happens upon him will happen upon you in triplicate?"

There's a brief stagnant pause. "I understand." The man rights his head to make eye contact. The fedora shifts and his eyes burn red before cooling to a dead black. He wonders if he should end the statement with 'sir,' but decides he doesn't want to seem too subservient. "I understand, Giotto."

Giotto hums, sets the photograph down on his desk. "No _touching_, Reborn. No more than necessary."

The man across from Giotto, Reborn, frowns and straightens his already immaculate tie. "I hardly think that will be a problem," he says curtly, rising from his chair to collect his bags and board the plane. Giotto bids him farewell, picking up the photograph once more, dismissing Reborn without saying the words.

The plane trip is uneventful, lethargic, and idiotic. As per Giotto's order's, he stays hidden for a week planning the day of the boy's sixteenth birthday down to the minute. The first time he sees Sawada Tsunayoshi, Giotto's descendant and the object of his mission, all of those carefully thought out plans go to _hell_, and Reborn eats his words.

* * *

The morning of Tsuna's sixteenth birthday passes with little fanfare. No cake, no celebrations, it was just like any other normal day. He had stayed up late the night before to wish himself a happy birthday and as a result of the, admittedly stupid, action, he'd woken up late with little, if any homework done. To add salt to the wound, his mother didn't wake him and his alarm clock malfunctioned.

Waking up three minutes before he's supposed to be out of the house and walking to school is something he never wants to repeat again (but knowing his luck, will probably happen soon) and when faced between the decision to dress correctly or eat a fulfilling breakfast, he decides that - perhaps he can do both.

The end result is a rumpled, stained uniform and an empty stomach because instead of eating at the table (as that would take more time than he had) he decided to take the food his mother had prepared with him. He'd ended up tripping going out the front door and spilling the food down his front.

Today is just going fantastic.

(Sarcasm. That's _sarcasm_.)

After flailing about in the awful mess he'd made of his school uniform, his mother, attracted by sound of Tsuna grumbling to himself and also the clatter of a bowl hitting the ground and shattering, comes out to help him. As she's trying to clean him up with a dish towel, he sees Yamamoto Takeshi walk by with a few of his friends, pristine and not being cleaned by his mother (or father, because Tsuna's heard Yamamoto's mother is dead). Tsuna attempts a smile and waves to his peers as they walk by, that same smile drooping into a frown when instead of a wave being reciprocated, the group of friends murmurs amongst themselves and walks a bit faster.

Not even Yamamoto, who's always rather kind to Tsuna, gives him a pity wave or a smile.

Ah. Probably didn't want to be associated with a loser like Tsuna.

He gets it. He really does. Normally this wouldn't bother him as much, but it's his _birthday_. It's the only day out of the year where things are supposed to go well for Tsuna, the only day of the year where it's supposed to be a good day for him. And by the start of things, today isn't going to be_ okay_. He sighs once more and is startled out of his thoughts by his mother patting his cheek and kissing his forehead, throwing the dirty dish towel over the forearm of her non-dominant arm.

"Be careful," she says softly, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. "Please come home as soon as school gets over, okay?" She doesn't make eye contact; instead she stares steadily at his cheek, exuding worry and anxiety. "Please, be careful."

He wants to scoff and brush her off – he's been walking to and from school since he started middle school, there's no reason for her to worry, but then he realizes she's shaking and that perhaps being callous isn't the best way to approach the situation. "Alright," he replies, simply and succinctly. "I'll come home right after school."

* * *

It's right after his last lesson that he realizes that coming home earlier might just be impossible. Not that he doesn't want to, or he feels rebellious, or anything like that. No, more than anything he'd like to go home and eat the birthday meal his mother's probably been making all day, curl up on his bed and take a nap. But he can't.

Why?

His bag is missing.

He doesn't know how he could've lost it: he keeps it on his person, or nearby him at all times. Maybe someone had stolen it and hid it while he was daydreaming? There's a quick internal debate of whether he should stay and search for his bag in the quickly emptying school, or to forget it and hurry home as his mother had requested that morning.

After a second of thinking, Tsuna decides to stay and check a few places just to see if he can find it. His mother can't fault him for trying, can she? Well, a few places turns into a dozen, then two dozen, and then by the time he's found his bag (in the third stall of the boy's bathroom near his classroom), it's rapidly getting darker and darker outside. He curses and slings his bag over his shoulder, digging into his bag to pull out his cheap cell with only his mother and his father's number (shows how popular he is, eh?), hitting the lock button to see if his mother had texted him or called him.

The shoddy touch screen lights up with thirty new notifications. Seventeen of the thirty are for the free games he'd downloaded almost immediately upon receiving his cell phone. The other thirteen are made up of nine text messages getting progressively more and more frantic, and four missed calls. He curses again, using language his mother would probably be ashamed of, and dials his mother's number by heart as he exits the building. Unsurprisingly, the call is answered within one ring.

"Mom?" Tsuna says into the phone, tilting his head sideways to rest it between his shoulder and his ear to adjust the strap of his bag resting on the other shoulder. "Yeah, I'm okay, I'm coming home right now. No, I lost my bag, I'm fin -"

He bumps into someone.

Someone _male, _as marked by the lack of breasts and the faint smell of cologne. The phone drops from its place between Tsuna's ear and shoulder, skidding across the sidewalk, Tsuna's mother's teeny voice going, "Tsuna? _Tsuna?" _Just beyond said boy's realm of hearing. A hand reaches out to catch him by the wrist, steadying him so he won't fall. Tsuna blinks slowly, raising his eyes to look at the person he'd bumped into, cold sweat slicking the hair on the back of his neck when the man's eyes, hidden slightly underneath the brim of a black fedora, flash red and his lips twist into a smirk.

He tries to yank his wrist out of the man's hand, starting to nervously sweat. His palms (and his wrist, where the man is touching him) start to perspire and Tsuna even imagines he can smell the mounting fear coming off of himself in waves. "A-ah ... let me go?" The demand comes out sounding like a question and the man's smirk widens, his eyes flash red and stay red.

"No." The man answers bluntly, pulling an apprehensive and fear-filled Tsuna into a nearby alleyway.

"Let me go!" Tsuna, realizing the severity of the situation, starts to resist and tug at the hand gripping him. He tries to dig his feet into the ground. None of it works. "Let me go!" He repeats, his collarbone now slick with sweat. "I-I-I have pepper spray!"

"Calm down," the man turns to place a hand on Tsuna's shoulder and to gently situate him against the wall, despite Tsuna's fervent protests. "If you don't calm down, this is going to hurt much more than it ought to."

The threat has Tsuna's spine straightening against the wall, his free hand flattening against the space at the side of his body. In an odd juxtaposition to the man forcefully moving Tsuna into some alley against his will, the man gently raises the wrist he'd been holding to his nose and mouth, kissing Tsuna's hand and the already forming finger-shaped bruises on Tsuna's wrist.

Tsuna's face heats and his brain all but shuts down. What is this guy doing? Is he from the 18th century or something? "Let ... " His voice cracks and the man muffles his laughter into Tsuna's skin. Tsuna flinches slightly at the touch, wondering just when and how he'd ended up in the Twilight Zone. He clears his throat. "Let me go, right _now_," he tries to sound exactly how his mom does when she gets scary and angry, but he thinks the effect is lost on the man, who has escalated from simple chaste kisses to full-on sniffing Tsuna's wrist.

This is exactly the opposite type of a situation Tsuna wants to be in, or even expects to be in. Before this moment, Tsuna barely had any interaction with anyone other than his mother and was the pariah of his school (still is, probably). So this ... this is really weird. And terrifying. He shifts his weight to the side, trying to inch away from the other man. His movement is frozen with a low growl and the man's eyes snapping up to make eye contact with him. Slowly, as if he were dealing with a feral animal, Tsuna repositions himself in his original spot, flinching when the man steps even closer, those red eyes now staring at his neck rather than his eyes. A hand is placed at his waist. The other continues to hold his wrist.

Tsuna tries to flatten himself against the wall even further. "L-let me go..." he says sort of weakly, his head spinning from all the adrenaline.

"Calm down," the man repeats, almost inaudibly, into Tsuna's neck and then almost so quietly Tsuna can't hear him, the man says, "Who know someone descended from _that guy _could be so ..." The man presses into Tsuna even further, crouching so his head can stay buried in Tsuna's neck and their groins just barely touch. The man doesn't finish his sentence, licking Tsuna's neck once, twice, thrice: before biting down hard enough to break skin and _sucking. _

Maybe he tripped and fell and now he's bleeding out in the entrance of his school. Or this was all a dream and he's at home, napping after a fulfilling homemade dinner. A particularly hard suck jars him out of his thoughts, has him yelping, shuddering in the man's arms as everything turns hazy and hot. "What are you doing ...?"

The man is making these _noises. _These obscene spit and blood slick noises, he's breathing so heavily out of his nose, and he keeps _licking_ over those bite marks with a too-hot tongue.

He must like the way Tsuna shivers when he does.

And the man must've slipped Tsuna something because he's hard and he's been hard for awhile now, and he gets even harder (if that's even possible, it feels like he's going to _explode_) when the man rakes sharper-than-normal teeth over tender skin. Tsuna's hips jerk of their own volition when the man does it again and accidentally grinds against an answering hardness. The man's hands tighten on Tsuna's wrist and his hip and he sucks at Tsuna's neck even harder, those sounds getting louder and louder until it's all that Tsuna can hear over his own heartbeat, his own labored breathing. His vision dims. It gets dark at the edges or Tsuna's vision, slowly creeping in towards the center, his whole body numb. His eyelids flutter, open and closed, open and closed, a few times before they close and they stay closed. The last sound he hears is the man audibly detaching himself from Tsuna's neck and cursing, something about taking too much.

Everything goes black and he wonders,_ too much of what_?

Tsuna comes to with only the vaguest sense of awareness and something coppery and wonderful trickling down his lax throat. His thought process is slower to come online. Where is he? What's happening? The answers are even slower coming to him.

He's in an alley. A man drank blood and licked his neck. He got hard. He might've come in his pants. And also, it's really, really, _really _hard to think when there's a wrist at his mouth and blood going down his throat and he should not be doing this but it feels _so good_. Tastes so good. Tsuna groans against the man's skin when he tries to take his wrist back, small, deceptively strong hands gripping that same wrist to pull it back to Tsuna's mouth.

Tsuna licks at the man's wrists, sucks on the man's wrist, he keeps groaning and grunting, and making these little, "ah, _ah,_" noises because he hasn't gotten the hang of breathing through his nose and he has to slightly lift his mouth from the man's wrist to breathe but he doesn't want to breathe, he just wants to drink and drink and bite and suck, and this _should not_ taste and feel as good as it does going down his throat, but it does and Tsuna's never been one to just be flagrantly indulgent, so just this one time should be alright, right?

"Tsuna." The man says curtly, one hand at said boy's mouth, the other cupping the back of Tsuna's hair. "Tsuna," the man repeats when only slurping, slick sounds answer him. "You've had enough. Let go."

Tsuna groans his disapproval at the idea and sucks on the man's wrist even harder, pulling mouthful after mouthful of blood into his mouth and down his throat.

The hand at the back of his head grips his hair, gently at first, and then not so gently, forcibly lifting Tsuna from the man's wrist, who whines when he realizes there's no longer any blood going dribbling into his mouth.

"I said," The man's voice is soft, but his eyes are cold. Tsuna shivers and licks the blood off of his lips, trying to get his tongue to his chin where he can feel the blood dripping down to his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt. "That's enough."

They stand in that dirty alley for a few minutes, the man's hand still gripping Tsuna's hair, forcefully craning his neck up, up, _up _so the blood that hasn't dried to Tsuna's skin trickles down his neck and over his adam's apple. Tsuna can't open his eyes all the way and his breath is coming short, he's panting, "hah, _haa_," because all that blood is making him hot all over and it's making him shiver and shudder, and he keeps licking his lips to get at the blood flaking at the corner of his mouth.

"My, my ... " the man says sort of dark and sultry, leaning in a little bit closer to swipe long, elegant fingers across Tsuna's cheek, that other hand still gripping Tsuna's hand, gripping tighter now, and wrenching Tsuna up even further so he's standing on his tiptoes and his back is arched along with his neck. "Such a _messy_ eater."

Tsuna whines at the treatment but doesn't protest, still strung out and hot from the coppery, heady aftertaste of blood. There's another rough yank to Tsuna's hair, fingers pressed against bloodied lips, he breathes deeply and opens his mouth just a little bit to let those fingers in. Why does this blood taste so good? What's happening to him? He can't think straight. He can't even see clearly. His vision starts to go black around the edges again and Tsuna whines around those fingers, not wanting to pass out. It's a fight to keep his eyes open, to stay alert, one he loses almost immediately after starting.

His eyes shut, eyelashes brushing against blood caked high on his cheeks, he sucks one last time on the fingers brushing against his tongue, his teeth before his mouth goes lax and there's an almost inaudible murmur, almost something like, "good boy."

Tsuna passes out with a smile on his bloodied lips.

_TBC..._

* * *

Thanks for reading, everyone! I don't know when the next chapter will be written and posted, but it'll hopefully be sometime soon, because this fic is eating at my creative thought process (but in a good way, don't worry). Favorite or follow or review if you want. I'd appreciate that. Ah, also most of the mystery surrounding the whole 'sixteen' thing and just the mystery in general will be explained in the later chapters. Please be patient, my loves.

Thanks to Mimi, Mel, Penny, Elliott, Yuu, and Dara for being such great sounding boards and reading this over. I love you. /smooches

If any mistakes are left over they're because of me, let me know in a review or something if you find one. And again, thanks for reading!


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